


Enough

by fluffywonder



Series: Psyche [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Spoilers, Civil War Team Iron Man, F/M, Not Steve Friendly, Not really about them though, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffywonder/pseuds/fluffywonder
Summary: After Ultron and Killian, Tony decides to take a step back from Avenging. Picks up after IM3.Or: Tony/Pepper over the years.Mostly canon-compliant, but AU in that Tony ‘retires’Utterly disregards Endgame. Mostly compliant through Infinity War.





	Enough

_“We’re good. This is good. Right, Tony?”_ Pepper’s voice is content, is closer to happy than its been in years, is so fucking  hopeful  as she peeks up at him from where she’s curled up against his shoulder that Tony has to swallow hard to keep his stirring restlessness trapped firmly behind his teeth. Instead, he just strokes a hand down Pepper’s cheek in a display of— reassurance? Comfort? He murmurs _“_ _Yes.”_

 

The lie tastes like ashes in his mouth.

 

———

 

It works for a while. It does. It works when they have sweet, slow sex, perfectly attuned to each other’s rhythm, and it works when Pep’s still snuggled tight by his side in the morning. He hasn’t traded her for his workshop, hasn’t snuck out of the bed at night, but if she can tell that he hasn’t slept a wink and that he’s been silently coding on his Starkphone for long hours in the darkness, Pepper doesn’t say a word. Instead, she gives him a quick kiss and bounces off into the shower when she wakes up, tossing him a playful, inviting grin over her shoulder in lieu of actual words.

 

Tony follows. Of course he does.

 

Later, he’ll make her an egg white omelet just the way she likes it -breakfast is the only thing he can cook, really- and listen halfheartedly as she rambles about the meetings and charity dinners she’d really like him to attend.

 

He can’t say no to her pleading face. It’s such a nice change from the perpetually-harassed expression she always wore before. Later, he knows she’ll reward him for showing up to board meetings sober by treating him to workshop sex.

 

They work.

 

It works when they’re on an SI trip to China and she actually suggests they take a day to sightsee. It’s an unprecedented occurrence; neither of them ever have much time to enjoy the places they travel to unless it’s a scheduled getaway, and those had been blue-moon rare. So they stroll along the Great Wall, eating fried noodles out of take out cartons. She’s giggling and feeding him bites, so they can keep their hands linked together like lovesick teenagers. He loves it.

 

He loves it more when they’re curled up around each other later on the hotel bed, half-dressed, her in a stereotypical half-buttoned white dress shirt of his, him in a dark red tshirt and boxers, sampling authentic dumplings and fried rice while she talks his ear off about all the great Ming dynasty art they’d seen that day. He makes a note to buy the expensive blue and white vase she’d so loved, later.

 

It works when they take a quick detour to Japan for an unexpected investor’s meeting and they repeat the process, except with onigiri and salmon sashimi this time. She smiles beautifully when he wipes a stray piece of sticky rice off her cheek. 

It works when SI’s stocks soar higher than ever, buoyed by the fact that the former CEO and current face of the company isn’t nearly dying every other week. He’s personally filed countless patents for new technology in the last six months, and the R&D techs are just happy that the explosions have been infrequent. Even as Pepper’s eyes shine bright at the reduction in complaints from SI personnel, Tony occasionally wonders if he’s finally growing up, or just growing old.

 

Pepper and Tony celebrate the rising stock with fizzing champagne, New York City laid out below them, glittering with promise and theirs for the taking. A bowl of strawberries is laid out to the side, a joke. He misses it a little, though. This is good, but it’s got nothing on their first kiss, on a rooftop just like this, hot and hard and fast but tentative and exploratory at the same time, framed by explosions all around them and adrenaline spiking in their hearts. But this is good, because the last time the world had been exploding, they had been on an oil tanker and fire tried to extinguish them from the inside out. The world’s not on fire now, and that’s— that works.

 

It still works when Hammer escapes prison and makes a nuisance of himself, because they alert the proper authorities —look at New York’s finest rising to the occasion— and Hammer’s recaptured within the week. It works because Tony’s not actively dying this time, and this year’s Expo goes off without a hitch, no super-sneaky Russian spy-assistants necessary. The predictable hum of life getting along as usual is good, and if they notice, neither Tony nor Pepper mention that their conversations over lunch dates all revolve around business. It works.

 

It works best when Tony pops a shining, vintage ring on her finger — _Maria Stark’s ring_ ,  recovered from the crash, the best part of himself that he can give Pepper— and Pepper is crying, happy tears scrolling down her face as she scrubs at it ineffectually with the hand not clutched in Tony’s. She is hiccoughing, and her lashes are teary and clumped together, it is  adorable, but her face is split wide in a grin that could rival sunshine. She is certainly the light of  _Tony’s_ very, very dark life. They work, and it is the best thing in the world.

 

It even works when Lagos happens, because Tony may be out of the game but that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping a wary eye on it. It works when the Accords committee convenes and tries to push the paperwork through, because Tony doesn’t have any stake in it, not really. Tony Stark would still help the world where he could, but Iron Man was retired. The Avengers predictably railed against the restrictions, going so far as to mutiny. Tony didn’t understand it until later, that it had all been about Barnes. He already knew about the truth of his parents’ deaths, of course; he’d spent days and weeks skimming the SHIELD/HYDRA data dump meticulously. He’d already found the video. He’d had ample time to grieve and mourn, tucked up against Pepper and Rhodey as necessary, sobbing brokenly. Rhodey had been there the day he worked the glitches out of B.A.R.F. The point was, he knew. He already knew Rogers and Romanova had lied to him for years. It had only reinforced his decision to stay away. The Avengers’ mutiny efforts never really got off the ground - Ross had them in the RAFT before sundown. Privately, Tony thought they were all fools, and Pepper agreed. Barton should’ve stayed retired, Lang should’ve thought of his kid, Wilson was the ultimate brownnoser and therefore unimportant, Maximoff... well, she’d always hate him, and that was fine by him. She could stew in her anger and hate, it wasn’t his issue anymore. Romanova was a turncoat that even SHIELD had turned its back on at this point — it was only a matter of time before the world swallowed her for itself. T’challa would wind up digging his own grave, consorting with the rogues. And Rogers? Well, he had Barnes, and it would be too soon if Tony ever saw them again in this lifetime. They weren’t Avengers anymore, any of them. They were recorded criminals and fugitives, and Tony was past done cleaning up after their mistakes, so he staunchly keeps his distance from the entire affair, and the relieved set of Pepper’s shoulders is a punch to his gut. He hears her whispers in the dead of the night:  _it wasn’t his job to fix everything; it wasn’t his job to save the whole world._ He doesn’t tell her that his mind continues the sentence, that  _when he tries to save the whole world, he only brings worse disaster upon them all, so it was time he stopped overreaching._ He doesn’t give public commentary on the Accords; he stays firmly out of the spotlight, and it absolutely  _thrills_ both Pep and his PR team that for once, they aren’t scrambling around in the devastating media shitstorm of Tony Stark(TM). It doesn’t matter anyway. He has no desire to speak with the press. All that mattered was that the people he loved were safe — Banner and Thor were either off-planet or elsewhere, and Tony just hoped they were happy, while Rhodey had signed the revised Accords as Iron Patriot, and the Spiderkid had been granted legal anonymity as a minor under the Accords that were no longer tainted by Thaddeus Ross, who Tony had quietly sentenced to the RAFT just by whispering a few words in the right ears. That was the extent of his personal involvement, and when he’d told Pepper what he’d done, she’d beamed at him for doing the right thing the right way. They discuss the Accords, the revisions, Ross, the rogue Avengers, SHIELD, and Tony resolutely does not focus on the fact that this is the most they’ve spoken in years about anything not related to SI or Iron Man. They don’t discuss his parents, or the sharp uptick in nightmares he’s been experiencing lately, the words  accountability  and  oversight  bringing back all sorts of feelings that track back to Afghanistan and Sokovia and homicidal AIs. They don’t discuss the way he stares out the window emptily, because he promised he wouldn’t build a new suit every time things got difficult. They don’t discuss any of it, they don’t need to. They were Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, they were better than ever, the most efficient team there ever was.

 

It works less when Thor comes back, an urgency in his eyes and warnings about an intergalactic threat tripping off his tongue.  _Honestly._ Tony had been saying that something was coming ever since the Chitauri. He really  was  the only futurist around, it seemed, the only one who’d seen the forest for the trees at any point in the last several years. Pepper’s eyes are fearful, now, and the fact that Thanos is an  _intergalactic_ threat means Tony will have to get involved, whether he likes it or not — whether  _she_ likes it or not.

 

He’s not sure what he hates himself more for: the fact that he’s fucking  _eager_ to get involved, or the fact that he kind of wishes he’d done it before now.

 

A large part of him is all twisted up in guilt and self-hatred, his default setting really, because, well, this had been working, with him and Pep, for real, for maybe the first time ever. Hadn’t it?

 

(He thinks he can relate to Barton and his short-lived retirement a little better now.)

 

The Rogues are pardoned, of course. Temporarily, the UN says, but to Tony and to most of the world, the pardons amount to undeserved absolution. Pep is seething on Tony’s behalf, and Tony thinks he might cry. He wonders how he got so lucky to have such a wonderful, fierce defender by his side.

 

(He wonders why Pepper couldn’t see that defending others was all he’d ever tried to do.)

 

Having the Rogues around is taxing, though. There are awkward silences, barely-concealed glares, and teenage-level angst emanating from every corner of the compound. It doesn’t help that he has no desire to talk to the Rogues, and most of the Rogues blame Tony for not siding with them on the Accords, for not backing their foolish, ridiculous play with his money and last name. Most days, Tony wishes he could just whisk Pepper away back to the Tower, but having the team split like that in the face of mass annihilation isn’t a good idea, and Thor needs to be able to brief everyone at once, at anytime. So Tony stays, and Pepper stays in support, but he can see the strained lines of tension around her eyes becoming clearer and clearer as every day passes. He notices the unhappy twist to her mouth, not overt, and concealed to anyone who doesn’t know her well —most would assume she was just stressed about Stark Industries— but Tony hates that the unhappiness is present on her face at all. He hates that the lovely, soft Pepper with warm eyes and an open, smiling face of the last few months has been replaced by this new model whose back is stiff, whose shoulders are a harsh line, and whose face rarely loses its pinched affect. He thinks she resents the effort he puts into avoiding Rogers and co., because he’s certainly not putting much effort into anything else these days. Sure, he’s eating, and tinkering (Pepper understood, she said, but something dark and foreboding still glittered in her eyes as she stared at the iconic red and gold metal), he’s talking strategy with Thor, and he still falls asleep in a bed with Pepper’s head pillowed on his shoulder, her strawberry-blonde strands tickling his face. But there is no giggling anymore. Most mornings now, she doesn’t coyly invite him into the shower, and he doesn’t have the time to make her eggs, or pancakes, or anything, and he  _definitely_ does not have the time to hand-feed her bite by bite. They don’t take trips anymore, and, while she stays, she doesn’t push him to attend SI functions with her anymore, where they can dance and he can sweep her off her feet. She only asks him to attend the board meetings she absolutely cannot get him out of. It should be a relief, really, that she’s not pushing him, that she understands how  busy  he is, but— It’s a crushing loss instead, one that puts the lack of the arc reactor to shame. He doesn’t know if he’s feeling the loss of what was, or what could have been.

 

All he knows is that for the first time, Pepper’s understanding reeks of defeat.

 

(And yet,  _and yet_ _,_ the strategizing, the voices chattering all over one another, the full rooms even though he avoids them, the  _suit_ —  he has missed all this with a desperate fierceness he had been unaware of until now.)

 

For his part, Rogers does not attempt to approach him a second time, not once Tony has laid his cards on the table. Not once he has shown both Barnes and Rogers the video of the Winter Soldier —FRIDAY kept him safe, beautiful girl, this is  _his_ turf— and made it clear that he has known for two years, and that all Rogers’ secrets have amounted to exactly nothing. He has made it clear that the only thing most of the Rogues have done is burn a bridge with him and with SI permanently,  _especially_ Rogers and Romanova. He’s been betrayed and lied to one time too many.

 

Tony thinks that will be the end of it, that he can go back to Pepper now, crisis safely averted, he doesn’t need to expend any effort into running away from Rogers anymore. But when he mentions that, casually, Pepper smiles back sadly.  _You can’t outrun it, Tony,_ she’d said. He’d thought about that the rest of the night as he lay there, Pepper curled up near him, lightly gripping his bicep with one hand. (No matter how hard he had tried, he never had been able to coax her to sleep on his chest post-reactor surgery.) He thought Pepper was referring to Thanos, or intergalactic threats, because  _yeah,_  they couldn’t outrun those, but couldn’t she see,  _Tony_ wasn’t at fault for that— and then his breath caught in his throat because—

 

Because that hadn’t been what Pepper had been referring to at all.  _You can’t outrun it, Tony._

 

You can’t outrun your past, even as you look to the future.

 

You can’t outrun your ledger (thanks, Natasha).

 

You can’t outrun your choices.

 

You can’t outrun your need to fix.

 

You can’t outrun yourself.

 

You can’t outrun the inevitable.

 

You can’t outrun the end.

 

And they had reached the end, hadn’t they? A forever and ever sort of end, not the sort where they broke up and got back together a few months, or maybe even a year later. This was— this was  _it._ This was their final curtain call, because they really  _had_ given it their all this time, hadn’t they? He’d been a good boyfriend to her when things had settled down after the Mandarin. And she’d been a good girlfriend to him when Thanos had come knocking and Iron Man was needed once again. They’d done their best, and they still weren’t happy, or making each other happy. 

 

It worked, until it didn’t.

 

In the morning, Pepper gives him a last, lingering kiss before she leaves the bed. They both know it’s done; no words need to be exchanged. They’re old hats at this song and dance by now, except— except they would never have to play an encore.

 

Later, when the sun is high in the sky and Tony is finally ready to chase down some coffee, he notices his mother’s engagement ring sitting on the teak dresser, looking unassuming. If nothing else, Howard had great taste, the bastard, Tony reflects, as he sweeps the ring into his sock drawer, which is really as unbearably cliche as it gets.

 

Thanos comes, and they all unite. Old faces and new —Dr. Strange, the Guardians, Spiderman, Captain Marvel— have all taken up residence in the compound upstate when the call to assemble sounds. Pepper gives him a hard, wet kiss before he dons the armor he had built especially for this occasion. They’ve broken up, but physical affection is how they’ve always communicated best, so he  _hears_ her as she’s bruising his lips with sentiment.  _I love you. Come back safely. You’re still one of my favorite people._ And he kisses back,  _I love you too_ and  _Keep yourself safe._ The last thing he sees before flying off into space is her stricken, bone-white face.

 

It’s ironic, and fitting, that they’ve come full circle. A full turn of the world.

_(“Sir, shall I try Miss Potts?” “Might as well.”)_

 

Thanos erases half the world with the snap of a finger, and he is too exhausted to bring himself to worry about Pepper, because he has just seen Peter turn into dust before his eyes. Peter, who should never have been called on, who shouldn’t have had to be there at all. Peter, who they - _he_ \- hadn’t done enough to save.

 

Belatedly, when he finally gets a chance to reflect, he wonders if Pepper was still on Earth, fretting and worrying over him, or if she had spent her last few minutes of life terrified — not for herself, but for  _him,_  as had always been the status quo. 

 

He loves her, of course he does. And he hopes and prays that she’s okay, that she’s alive, that there’s a way to reverse  _this—_ he’s just too tired to dredge up any panic or worry.

 

He’d been wrong, he decides, as he sits in the silence beside the alien _—_ _Nebula—_ heading back to Earth. (And isn’t that ironic? It’s the end of the cosmos and the egocentric Tony Stark is still focused on himself and his own relationship, ladies and gentlemen. But... she had been _his_ world.) It hadn’t suddenly stopped working between them. They  _hadn’t_ been working all along, not at all. He couldn’t handle the domesticity, she couldn’t handle the danger, and they’d both killed themselves trying to accommodate the other, because they were in love. 

 

They were in love, and it wasn’t  _enough._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for tuning in, please leave some love!


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